No Son Of Mine
by lizzington95
Summary: Soul returns home for his grandmothers' funeral to receive a less than warm welcome from his parents. SoMa if you squint.
1. Chapter 1

Soul dropped the phone and collapsed on the sofa as his brothers' words sunk in. They did more than sink in. Sinking implied something gentle and slow. These words _burned_ their way in, burned and scarred and cut their way into his soul. He barely registered Maka's cry of alarm, her brief conversation with Wes. He thought she might be trying to talk to him but all he could hear was the roar of his brothers' voice in his ears.

"Granny's dead" circled around his head as he drowned in a whirlpool of despair and grief. He felt Maka's arms around him, heard her murmur soothing noises in his ear, felt her stroke his hair and finally, belatedly felt his tears drip down his cheeks. He drew in a shaking breath and returned Maka's embrace.

He grabbed her roughly, desperately, like a drowning man grabs a life ring. Because he was drowning. And she was his life ring. She was always his salvation.

Maka held her partner as he cried. She knew he needed her after such terrible news. Souls' grandmother had been the only family he actually loved – he liked one of his aunts and a few cousins and he could get on with Wes well enough, but there was a lot of jealousy and resentment there still.

Maka held him, and stroked his hair and murmured soothing words in his ear as he wept, for some indeterminate length of time. She felt his wavelength calm, felt him come back to himself as the first wind of grief blew out.  
"Wes said the funeral's on Saturday." She said in his ear quietly "Do you want to go?"

Did he want to go? Well that was certainly a loaded question. He _had_ to go, to say goodbye to his grandmother. But his parents would probably be there, and he didn't want to see them.  
What if he cried again? It was one thing to cry in front of Maka, who would understand so completely and never tell anyone, but it was entirely another thing to cry in front of his stupid, snobby, stuck up family. What if his parents tried to talk him into coming home again? He'd thrown away the letters and refused to answer their summons back to the Evans estate, but what if they tried to pounce on him while he was weak? What if-

He silenced the hurricane inside his head. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. His grandmother, his wonderful, warm, loving grandmother was dead. That mattered. The funeral would be a chance to say goodbye. Saying goodbye properly _mattered_.

"I have to" he said hoarsely. "Will- will you go with me?"  
"If you want me to be there, I'll go. You know I will."  
"I think I might need you there" he muttered into her hair as he struggled to talk past the lump in his throat.  
"Then I'll go. I'm always here for you Soul. You know that."

Soul held her close again, clinging to those words and the support behind them. He let her go and stood up. Maka looked so damn worried about him and her shirt was creased from where he'd grabbed her as his anchor.

"I'm going for a drive. I need- I need some space."  
She smiled gently, standing as well.  
"Sure. Dinner's at six."  
Soul watched his partner walk towards the kitchen and thanked whatever God there was that she was there. He'd never met anyone who understood him so completely. He was going to need her on Saturday. Hell, he'd probably need therapy after Saturday.


	2. Chapter 2

Maka gripped Souls hand as the coffin was lowered. He'd sat stone faced in his black suit through the service and the eulogy, looking unaffected to anyone who didn't know him well enough to read the signs.  
His hands were completely still throughout – not once did he start tapping a rhythm or absentmindedly fingering a chord. He didn't once fidget with his tie or the overly starched collar of his grey shirt. His wavelength was drowning in grief. He kept almost reaching to take her hand, but not quite allowing himself to indulge in support.  
So she had indulged for him. The death grip he took on her fingers as the first handful of earth fell told her she'd read him correctly.

He was right. He needed her for this. He had almost cried when a friend of his grandmothers' had stood up and spoken about what a loving, caring person she was. How she made a difference to the life of everyone she touched. How- he swallowed – how proud she was of her children and her grandchildren.  
The lowering of the coffin had hit him hard as well. There was no chance of a last minute reprieve now. She was gone. Well and truly and totally gone. Swallowed into the ground. Six feet under. Somewhere he couldn't reach her.  
Damnit she was meant to be coming for a visit next month! She was meant to stand in the crowd tearfully when he became a Death Scythe and embarrass him in front of Lord Death and all his friends. She was supposed to be the first person he called about anything. How could it possibly be fair for her to abandon him now?

He snapped out of his funk when Maka squeezed his hand hard. He looked up and saw a warning in her green eyes. He looked forward and saw Wes coming towards him, managing to look comfortable in his funeral suit.  
"Soul. I know this is hard, but thank you for coming. She would want you here."  
Soul nodded mutely, and prised his fingers away from Maka's hand.  
"I'm, um, I'm gonna go say goodbye." He said softly and walked towards the grave.

Maka watched him go; those strong shoulders held forward, instead of being thrown back and ready to take on the world. Her partner was strong, but his feelings were weighing down on him, hunching his shoulders and slowing his steps.

"I'm glad you're here for him Maka" Wes said quietly once Soul was out of earshot. "It, well, I guess I find it reassuring that he's got someone to be there for him."  
"We're partners" she replied simply. "Being there is what we do."  
"Who is this charming young lady, Wesley?"  
Maka saw a flash of alarm cross Wes' face as he turned and greeted the man behind him.

"Father, this is Maka Albarn. She's, er, a friend of Souls'." He said nervously.  
Maka looked at the man more closely. He looked like a dark version of Soul. He had her partners' build of tall lean lines and the same planes and angles to his face, but his hair was black and his eyes were a mundane brown instead of captivating red.

"I see." He said in a way that rang warning bells for Maka. "I was unaware he would be bringing a guest."  
"It's nice to meet you Mr Evans." She said formally, deciding to ignore the fact he was looking her up and down like some men evaluated cars or horses. "I only wish it was under better circumstances."  
"Father."  
Maka jumped slightly as Soul appeared at her shoulder.

Soul stood in front of the grave, just thinking. Thinking about all the things his grandmother had done for him, about all the things she had been there for and all the things she wouldn't see. He remembered her smile, and the way her hugs felt. He remembered how proud she'd been when he'd told her he was going to Shibusen. Soul stood and let the memories swirl around him.  
"Thanks Granny." He whispered to the gravestone, in the hope that somewhere she could hear him. Soul turned to go back to his brother and his partner and held back a curse when he saw his father making his way through the crowd towards them. Maybe if he got there first, he could get Maka away from Wes before _he_ got there.

"Soul." The man said coldly. "I was wondering if you would actually attend."  
Soul resisted the flinch, but he knew Maka had sensed it in his wavelength.

"I needed to say goodbye, Father. I'm sure you can understand that."  
"You are no son of mine, Soul Eater. I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave now. The reception is only for family." Soul scowled at the subtle emphasis the bastard put on the word "family".

"Father!" Wes snapped. "You may have your differences but that is no reason to send him away. Granny would want him here."  
Against his better judgement, Souls' hand gripped Makas' again. He needed her to get him through this mess. Determined not to be pushed around by the expectations of his father any more, he straightened his shoulders and drew strength from Makas' wavelength.

"I may not be any family of yours Mr Evans" he said calmly "But she was my grandmother, and we _will_ be staying."  
He turned and led Maka away through the crowd, hoping to find some less dangerous waters.


	3. Chapter 3

"And I thought my Papa was bad." Maka muttered to him, in the hope it would lighten the tension. She was rewarded with a small smirk. It made her want to do a victory dance.  
"At least you can laugh at yours." He replied "When you aren't smashing a book into his head."

"Soul!"  
He turned and let go of Maka as if she was burning him.  
"Wesley told me you were coming." His Aunt Cecelia bundled him up in a hug. Her hugs were almost as good as Granny's. "I know you were close to her. How are you holding up?"  
He looked at his feet, encased in the shiny dress shoes Maka had helped him polish the night before, to avoid having to deal with the concern in her eyes.

"I'm coping. I just wish she'd seen me graduate." He said wistfully.  
"She'll be watching from wherever she is." Aunt Cecelia said sternly. "And, if you would like . . . maybe I could come in her place."  
Soul was deeply touched by the offer. Not many of his music driven family were supportive of his choice to join Shibusen. Fewer still were able to deal with him not being a musical prodigy.  
"I would like that Aunt Cecelia. Thank you." he replied quietly, past the stubborn lump in his throat.

His aunt blinked, and turned to Maka.  
"Now you must introduce me to your young lady, Soul." She said brightly.  
Soul smirked as Maka went pink.  
"It's not like that Aunt C. We just work together." He said wryly, deciding not to mention the shared apartment. "This is my meister, Maka Albarn. Maka, this is my Aunt Cecelia. She was Granny's daughter."  
"It's very nice to meet you" Maka said, shaking hands. "I met your mother a few times and I had a lot of respect for her. I was very sorry to hear the news."  
"She was a wonderful woman" Aunt Cecelia said sadly. "It's good that you're here for Soul."

"He's my partner. Where else would I be?"

Aunt Cecelia gave him a _look_. It was the same look his mother used to give him at those damn match-making social engagements.  
"_No_ Aunt C. Whatever you're thinking, no." He said grumpily. It was her mothers' funeral – did the woman have no shame? Now was hardly the time to be trying to play matchmaker.

"I think you're getting slightly paranoid Soul" she said innocently. "I was just going to tell you to make sure you look after her. You've got yourself a keeper. It was nice to meet you Maka." She turned and dove back into the crowd.


	4. Chapter 4

Maka stayed with Soul as he wandered through the crowd, and met some of the cousins he could put up with as well as one or two of the ones he despised. They were just turning to leave when they ran into a woman with the same red eyes as Soul.

"Soul Eater." She said cordially.  
"Mother. I . . . didn't expect to see you." he said hesitantly. He'd assumed she'd be with his father, who was avoiding him after their little confrontation earlier.  
"Cecelia told me you had brought a girl" she said with a shrug. "I'm still enough of your mother to be curious."

Maka glanced at him as a burst of resentment and disdain flooded his wavelength.  
"Mother, this is Maka Albarn. Maka, meet my mother." He said in a curiously defeated voice.  
"It's nice to meet you Mrs Evans" she said politely, slightly concerned about Soul. "I'm very sorry for your loss."  
"Thank you dear" the older woman replied with a serene smile. "Tell me, do you play at all?"

"Play?" Maka was confused – play what?  
"No Mother, Maka isn't musical." Soul actually sounded amused at her confusion. She'd forgive him this once, out of sympathy but next time he was going to get a Maka Chop.  
"Oh. What a pity." Mrs Evans said. "And you, Soul? Are you still practising?"

Maka had to stop herself from wincing. Soul never played outside of the Black Room.  
"I play on occasion" he said casually, sliding Maka a grin. She smiled, glad he'd found something to grin about today.  
"Really Soul!" his mother seemed to care more about his lack of practise than anything else. "How do you ever expect to reach Wesley's level if you never practise?"

"I don't." He said shortly. It had been funny enough when the first question she asked Maka was if she played an instrument, but nagging him about the piano was not ok. "I expect to become a Death Scythe. Strangely enough, they don't give many concerts."

He felt Maka's wavelength swirl around his, supporting and warning him at the same time. She was probably right. Taking his frustration out on his mother would not be a wise move.  
"So you still wish to continue with that rather . . . coarse profession?"

He felt Maka stiffen. She might hate her father, but she had a healthy respect for the level of Death Scythe. To hear her and her mothers' life's work be called coarse by some society airhead had to sting. He could feel the apprehension in her wavelength. It bugged him too.

"It isn't coarse Mother. In fact, you would probably appreciate the melody of a soul resonance. Now if you'll excuse me, we should be going. It's a long drive back to Shibusen."  
He grasped Maka's elbow to lead her away.

"I see. Your father was right. You did indeed leave us behind when you left. I will admit, I had hoped that you would be coming home when I heard you were attending the funeral."  
"I came here for her." Soul said, staring at the ground. "I'm never coming back to the estate."  
He led Maka away, movingly smoothly through the crowd and avoiding eye contact.

He stopped next to the motorbike and pulled her into a rough embrace.  
"I'm sorry" he said as he grabbed her "I need this."

Soul swallowed a sigh as Maka stroked his back. He needed this. He needed _her_. It had been harder than he expected to see his parents again. He felt like he was in the middle of a maelstrom of emotion. There was grief and sorrow and rage and resentment all bundled up together and he could feel it fuelling his madness.  
Soul reached out and grasped her wavelength as he grasped the fabric of her black dress, feeling her Grigori Angel's soul calm him and tamp down on his insanity.

"It's ok Soul." She whispered in his ear "It's not uncool to need to lean on someone every now and then."  
"I know" he muttered, ignoring the eyes he could feel judging him. Always judging him. He couldn't do anything around the estate without someone watching and evaluating his actions. Soul pulled on her wavelength more strongly, needing her to make the feeling of being watched go away.

Maka paused, worried. Something was making Soul demand more and more of her wavelength. She could almost feel the tingle of a resonance starting. The last thing she wanted to do was start resonating in the middle of the car park at his grandmothers' funeral. She dreaded to think what his family's' reaction would be. She could already picture the looks of disdain on their faces.

Soul felt the apprehension in her wavelength. He knew he was taking too much. He knew, but he couldn't seem to stop. Forcing himself to gain some control over his wavelength, he stepped back.

"Sorry. I shouldn't be forcing us into a resonance. I just really need to get out of here."  
He climbed on the bike and felt her clamber on behind him, hampered slightly by the knee length skirt. Soul drove them away from his family and felt the pressure lift with every mile of distance.

His mother was wrong. Home wasn't the Evans estate, with the constant practise and the judgement of his parents for not being Wes' carbon copy. Home was Death City, with Maka and the Spartoi. After all, they say home is where the heart is, don't they?


End file.
